Be My Family Or Not
by Mad 'atter
Summary: It all started off with a cane. A gold tipped, black cane hanging from an innocent looking belt loop. If I hadn't seen it, this would've never happened to me. I would've never met him, and I never would've gotten into this mess they call Brooklyn... Damn.
1. Don't Get Caught

I can remember the first thing I ever stole.

It was a piece of rock candy. It was white and shiny. Forget the purple ones or blue ones or the hot pink candies. I liked white rock candy. Back then my family was still around, and I had money. But my Father told me to use my money for something important. I shouldn't waste my savings on candy and toys. So my mouth was watering at the sight of the giant crystal stick, which was only a penny for three. What a deal! But I couldn't buy it. My Dad told me not to. I was still a semi-good girl back then. After all, I hadn't stolen anything _yet_. I wasn't rebellious.

That's when I realized no one was manning the register in the store. The Candyman had gone into the back. I debated for a moment before reaching into the jar. I pulled out one piece of candy and ran from the store like a demon was following me. But afterward, the candy tasted so good, I had to go back for more. I had never had rock candy in my life before. But I was careless. It wasn't long before the man realized that every time I hung around his rock candy jar got lighter.

Soon, he caught me in the act, my hand full of sticks. I was stupid; I should've paid for them like a 'good girl'. That would confuse him and he would suspect someone else. But I stood there, mouth wide in shame. I ran off, but I didn't even make it to the door. He grabbed me by my dress. Then I was dragged back home. They found my sticks, too. I kept the rock candy sticks like trophies. That was stupid too. You don't leave evidence at murder; you certainly shouldn't leave any for a petty crime. My Dad found them while going through my room. I was spanked and my savings went to pay the man. I was grounded, sent to bed without supper, and had my mouth washed out wish soap. I was spitting for a week.

Unfortunately for everyone else involved, I was hooked on stealing. Soon I was pilfering left and right. Flowers, fruit, candy, clothes… I stole a silver pocket watch once. I was so proud of that watch; I kept it in my pillowcase and stared at its ever-ticking hands each night. My own hands seemed to jump every time the second hand clicked.

Then my parents died. My brother and I didn't even know. We just came home and we didn't see them that day. It was common, since Dad worked in a mechanic factory and Mom worked in a sewing room. Sometimes they pulled overtime and didn't get home until two in the morning. Me and Shou (That's my brother); we just shrugged it off and went to bed. Of course, in the morning, when they weren't there, we figured they already went to work. A whole week went by like this until a bull found Mom and Dad facedown dead in an alley.

I should probably introduce myself further before I go off and make an autobiography about my life. My name is Ren. My parents came from the west, from Japan. But my Father was afraid of the open space, and he and my Mother traveled in a wagon train from the west to the east. They went to New York City, a reminder of Tokyo. Shou was born somewhere on the trail to New York. I'm a native New Yorker. I was born in Chinatown, and, despite being Japanese, was able to fit in. I rolled with the Viets and the other Japs, and there was even this Korean kid in the mix. But now most of them are dead or I just never see them anymore. I don't live in Chinatown now.

In fact, as of now, I don't live anywhere.

"Hey, you filthy rat! What the hell are you doing on my fire escape?!"

I found myself waking up to an angry Italian, obviously pissed that I was outside on his windowsill. His newspaper was rolled up in his hand, and he smacked me in the face with it. I ran down the escape ladder quickly, being chased down by rapid angry Mafioso curses. This was the last time I'd ever sleep in Little Italy, I told myself. But I knew I'd be back in a week, just on a different fire escape. I traipsed down the metal stairs, snagging a meat pie from an open window as I went. Thank god for Italian families, with their constant reunions and giant families of five children or more. They always had food to eat.

I walked out of Little Italy and down through Midtown. I was looking for jobs. I managed to find a quick errand runner gig and got a quarter or two for getting groceries for some Irish woman. But other then that, no one was really hiring. Not that it bothered me much. I spend three fourths of my life looking for jobs, a fifth of my life sleeping, and the other small bit working. I soon tired of Midtown and Manhattan. There was nothing there. By that point I was at the south end of town. I didn't want to hike up to the Bronx now. So I made my way into Brooklyn instead, eating the meat pie still. It was cold, but god, it was good.

It was then I spotted it.

It was shiny. That's how I found it. My eyes are naturally drawn to shiny objects. It was a cane, with a shiny golden top. It was black. I didn't even care that it was on a Brooklynite, I knew I had to steal it. I felt my fingers starting to twitch like they always did when I wanted to steal something really bad. I didn't care if it was impractical, I _wanted_ that cane. But I stepped back and took a breath, looking around before following slowly.

It was in a belt loop. First mistake. If I came from behind, I could just yank on the golden head and it would slide right out. Then I would escape.

His hands were crossed in front of him as he walked. Second mistake. That would give him a delay to grab at the cane, meaning I'd be halfway down the street by the time he got his arms uncrossed and grabbed at me. Then I would escape.

He was alone. Third mistake. If he had a group of friends, then he would've had a chance to get someone to catch me. But there was no one with him. He had no friends with him. He would be stuck all alone chasing me, and he would eventually tire. Then I would escape.

Some kid was about to lose his shiny little toy.

I came up behind him, walking like I belonged. No one noticed, everyone thought we were separate. He didn't notice me, he was looking forward. I felt my hand twitch. I looked around one last time, making sure my escape routes were clear and that no one was going to jump out and grab me for him. I saw no others. I saw no bulls. I saw no do-good-and-never-sin-ever-ever-ever adults. This was my chance. My hand eased forward until the tip of the cane was right under my hand.

Then I curled my hand around and pulled it from its belt loop cradle.

Then I ran like hell.

I heard the yell of surprise he gave off. I heard him chase me. But I skittered around the block, running as fast as I could through the crowd and over benches, under awnings, past people. I kept going and going and my feet were flying, no one could catch me as I hurtled over a fruit stand and I could hear him behind me still, and I remembered never looking behind me. I was running on empty and he was still chasing me and my breath was giving out. There was no way; just no way I could keep going for long.

Then I decided the best way to rid myself of him was the old 'apartment building hurtle'. This involved thinking fast on your feet, skill, and well good timing. I dashed into an apartment building, ran up two flights of stairs, jumped over a sleeper, and, hearing him behind me, ducked into an open door. I ignored a Negro family yelling at me as I jumped in, went through their tiny crowded room, and out through the window to the fire escape. I kept running up. I heard the noises from below that made it sound like my victim wasn't so lucky. I heard the window shut and I knew I was safe. But, I kept running until I got to the roof, then I collapsed on the top. I gasped for air as I held the cane up like a sword, brandishing it to the heavens. The white fluffy clouds above me stood out against the black staff. The blue sky was even worse. I sat up and smiled, holding it out in my hands, inspecting it from every perceivable angle. My pride was glowing. Or least it would be, for I little bit. I held it to me, happy to have won it. It was perfect, simplistic and yet effective. It must've cost a fortune. That kid had put up a good chase, but he would never see this cane a-

"I'm gonna want that back, goil." Remember the part before when I said 'Then I would escape.'? I said it three times, didn't I?

Well apparently that didn't go so well.

I reeled back and saw the boy standing behind me. The corner of his mouth was bloody and his shirt was ripped from the scuffle from downstairs. I saw the open door to the roof. Fool! I should've stayed on the fire escape! I should've gone down onto the street! Not up onto the roof! My childhood came back to me as I held the cane firmly in my left hand, mouth wide. It was like the candy store all over again. I had never been caught after that! I had always gotten away! I struggled to get to my feet, but he grabbed my shirt and pulled on me, wrapping his hand around my wrist. I hit him with the cane and he smiled as he caught it. I wasn't letting go. He saw me with no escape. I saw one way. I kneed him hard and he buckled. I went to the ground and I ran, but he was smart, he grabbed my ankle and yanked. I fell forward and the stick clattered away, across the roof. We both looked up and noticed it as it rolled to the edge. This normally wouldn't be bad. But, since this was not a public roof, there was no wall. So the cane tottered on the edge of the building and we held our breath. It stayed. We sighed.

My Mother, when I was young, told me about the Japanese gods. My family was Buddhist, not Christian, but we believed in the Shinto gods of Japan. My Mother showed me pictures of all of the seven luck gods. They were called the Shichi Fukujin, and they were very important. Daikoku, the god that made mortal's wishes come true; Hotei, the god of happiness and laughter; Benten, the goddess of luck and water; Fukurokuju, the god of wisdom and longevity; Jurojin, god of happy old age; Ebisu, god of fishermen; and Takara-Bune, the ship that carried them all.

Benten must've been seriously pissed off.

The cane fell off the roof.

There was an eerie silence between me and the boy. We blinked, comprehending. Then there was a sudden scramble between us as we ran off to look over the roof's edge. I sucked in my breath as I saw the cane lying still on the alley ground. The quiet still hung in the air as we looked over the edge of the roof in horror.

The mad dash from the roof to the fire escape was inevitable.

I ran faster, of course. I got to it first and I sprinted down the stairs. I ran down, hearing him not far behind me. I kept running, and finally made the jump down to the ground. I grabbed the cane on the run and kept going, hearing him still behind me. Once again, the chase was on. But this time, it stopped abruptly, because I ran into a dead end.

"All right..." He said, panting, knowing that he cornered me. He clenched his teeth and looked up at me, his grey eyes giving me a death glare. "If you don' give that back now, I'm gonna kill ya." I stood my ground. He sighed. "What are you gonna do wit' it anyway?"

"Sell it." I stated matter-of-factly, nodding my head.

"Why? You short on cash?" He sneered at me.

"No, I'm actually quite rich, I just wanted to steal and sell it. Of course I'm poor, you rube!" Honestly, how stupid was that?

"If you give it back, I can get ya' a good job." He said, and I stopped. I stared at him, blinking. Only a minute ago we were killing each other, now he was offering me a job?

"How much does it pay?"

"A dollar a day if your lucky, and a roof over your head."

"I'll take it."

And that's how I became the very first girl Newsie in Brooklyn.


	2. You're Not Getting Sympathy

**Brooklynite Accent Translation:  
**

**'D'- 'th'**

**'Ah'- 'er', 'r'**

**'Oi' – 'ir'**

**Heah- here.**

**Da, dis, deah–The, this, there.**

**Ya, Youah- You, Your.**

**Goil, shoit- Girl, shirt**

**I know that the Brooklyn accents are confusing. That's why Ren doesn't have one. I couldn't deal with that m****any misspelled words.**

**Oh my god. So I finished writing this, finally. Nine pages on word. I wanted to cut the chapter in half, but I wasn't sure where. I tried to do it on page four or so, but that was in the middle of a scene, and I didn't want a really short chapter and then a long one that could've just been combine****d. So I went ahead and kept all nine pages.**

After the cane theft, I had reluctantly given the shiny black stick back to the boy I had taken it from. I was forced to. Handing it over, I felt a twinge of regret. I should've bolted again. But it was to late, his hand snatched it and he slid it into his belt loop, this time securing it with a hand on the head. I sighed a little bit and died on the inside, knowing I'd never get a chance to take it ever again. His other hand shot out in front of me and we shook hands. I realized he had spit on his, but I didn't care. I spit-shook all the time. He then introduced himself as Spot Conlon, the leader of the Brooklyn newsies.

"My name's Spot Conlon. I'm da leadah of da Brooklyn Newsies." See? Told you.

"My name's Ren Fujimori. I'm the queen of Chinatown." I grinned. He smiled slightly, his face, his arrogant smirk antagonizing me. I was half tempted to ditch him, but his promise of a job, a real, live, paying job that I could keep made me stand my ground. I needed a place to sleep, somewhere real. With his face going back to a frown, the boy stared at me, sizing me up. My clothes were worn, gray pants showing that I had grown four inches since they had been bought, black patent leather shoes comfy on my feet, since I had only stole them a few weeks ago. My white shirt was stained, overlapped by my ragged brown suspenders. My long black hair was tied back with a piece of twine. I had a necklace on with a small Buddhist pendant on the end. It was the only thing that hadn't been taken from me. His eyes glanced at it, then up to my face.

Ugh, my face. The pale porcelain skin, the slanted dark eyes, the high cheekbones… I'm not saying I have a bad face, no. That's the problem. My face was actually very pretty, which made it hard to pass for a boy, and I was constantly asked 'Why don't you go into showbiz? With your pretty features, you'd certainly make it as a chorus girl, maybe even a head act in no time.', and it made me angry. I hated being judged by my looks, being treated special. I had been approached by prostitutes, who told me they would kill for my face. Plus, the white people always pushed us Asians around, calling us dirt, spitting on us. I wasn't ashamed of my heritage. I was mad at the rest of the world for looking down on it.

"You look like you ain't cut out for dis kinda work." I frowned and I felt my hand shoot out, grabbing his hat, taking it from his head. His brown hair fell around his face and he glared at me, grabbing my wrist and taking his hat back. I smirked.

"I've got reflexes. I can fight. I've managed to survive for six years here. I can handle a little paper selling."

"Tha's what you call it? It ain't just about sellin' papes." His eyes glowered at me again. I couldn't help but glare back. He let my wrist go and turned around, sauntering away. I followed, watching him navigate silently through Brooklyn. We didn't talk. It was unnecessary.

Soon we were at a large house, surrounded by Newsie boys. They were playing marbles, fighting, having shooting, running, and spitting contests, and eating. It was chaos. Wonderful organized chaos. Spot was greeted, boys nodded to him, some tipped their hats, others were more hand's-on. They shook his hand, and slapped him on the back, laughing, telling quick stories, small victories. They noticed me, but I was treated like an object behind him. As Spot walked in, I swore every person was staring at me with a look of either disdain or confusion.

"It's a Jap." That made me turn, and I literally jumped through the roof.

"Who the hell said that?" I yelled, but Spot grabbed me and dragged me violently inside, pulling me off balance. I stumbled, which made the boys laugh. I turned, ready to deck the gray eyed wonder, but he grabbed my shirt and pulled me close, his voice lowered and his eyes were once again boring into mine.

"Don' pick fights you ain' gonna win. I may have brought you heah ta work, but I sure as hell ain't gonna help you in a fight wit' my best boys. Got it?"

"Who the hell says I'm not going to win?" I shot back. He looked at me up and down and shook his head at me.

"You? To scrawny. You couldn't do anything if youah life depended on it. I doubt you can even sell ten papes." He let me go, then turned away, about ready to walk. I saw boys scattered around, and I smirked. My prideful nature was about to get me in trouble. Again.

"Says the boy who could barely catch a girl who stole his cane." That stopped him cold. He looked to me, and the boys around stopped and stared to. I crossed my arms and smirked. "Yeah, you guys should've seen it. He was chasing me all over Brooklyn to retrieve his _toy_." I sneered and continued. "Only managed to get it because I ran into a dead end alley. If I hadn't taken a wrong turn, he'd be back here without it."

You know the term 'if looks could kill'? If they could, I would've died a hundred times over by now, and been sent to hell each time by Spot's stare. He was ready to deck me, but instead he simply smiled, a nice, sarcastic smile. Then he grabbed me and dragged me away by my hair. I yelped, kicked, and punched wildly, never landing a hit on him. He pulled me up the stairs and opened a door, pushing me into a room. There were a few boys in there, reading, sleeping, and playing cards. They barely looked up when I came in. Spot pushed me into a bed, my back hitting the post, then he repeated what he had done before, grabbing my shirt hold pulling me close. This kid was going to give me whiplash. This time, his teeth were gritted.

"Don't _evah_ try to embarrass me in front of my boys on purpose, ya heah?" His eyes shot into me and I nodded nonchalantly, not really caring. He noticed. He slapped me on the back of the head, and I stomped on his foot, which didn't faze him obviously, because he slapped me again with the same force. "Ya heah?!" I felt like I got hit with a brick, and I nodded earnestly this time in reply so he'd leave me alone. He seemed content and loosened his grip. I pushed him away from me, and expected him to hit me all over again, but the ass didn't. He instead pointed to the bed.

"You sleep heah. Bathrooms are deah. Dis is da boys room to, so ya know. Youah da foist goil tha's evah joined da Brooklyn Newsies. But at the rate youah going, you won't last long." With that, he left me. I stared after him, flipped him the bird behind his back, then checked out the bed. It was comfy, for me anyway. I hadn't slept in a bed for over three years. I laid back on it, not caring that it was the middle of the afternoon. I soon fell asleep, flat on my back in enemy territory.

I woke up during the middle of the night. Everybody else was asleep. I had no idea what time it was, but my internal clock was telling me something around five thirty, five forty- five. I sat up and looked around, seeing no light, nobody up. I swung my feet out of bed and stepped onto the floor. Hearing nothing, I scampered off into the bathroom. I found a small clock, and it showed that it was five forty-three. Damn, I was good. I debated whether to stay up or not, staring as it ticked for a minute. I sat it down quietly and turned around, ready to go back to bed for five more minutes.

Then suddenly, the damned clock rang.

Along with twenty thousand others.

I think I had a minor heart attack.

Within ten seconds, half were off, and Spot was up yelling up a storm. I understood the gist of it. Get up, dressed, and get clean. I realized, then, that I had limited time in the bathroom. I sprinted into a shower stall and slammed it, locked it, and undressed, knowing it would take me time to wash off three or so years of dirt. I scrubbed, hard. The water turned brown as I scoured myself, and when I was starting to feel like I'd taken to long, I got dressed and left the shower, the water still turning brown. Immediately someone else was in the place. I didn't even turn off the water. I went over to the 'table of stuff to use and abuse' and grabbed a random hairbrush, running it through my hair quickly. A few boys stared as I pulled it through my tangled hair, making it smooth and shiny like it was supposed to be. One boy slapped me on the back on his way out. I glared at him, but he gave me a happy look. I was confused.

"That's our way of saying hello." He told me, and I shook his hand, still brushing my hair with the other. I finished, then put my hair into a ponytail with my twine. The boys watched me as a pulled five or so bobby pins from my pocket, spun the hair around the base, shoved in the pins, and frowned into the mirror. My hair was now in a untidy bun, some parts sticking out messily. I ignored it and followed the boy who had slapped me on the back outside of the chaos.

"My name's Blackjack." He smiled at me. He was tall, but thin. He was pretty muscular, though. But, then again, so were a lot of guys here. His hair was shockingly blonde, so much so it was almost white. He had blue eyes, but he had freckles all along his face. I started to try and count them. He noticed and began to laugh, then patted my hair. "One hundred and thirty-four." He said. "Spot counted them hisself on a rainy day. I'm German, born and bred. Came over when I was seven." I nodded, still staring at all the freckles. Didn't Germans have pale, smooth skin with no freckles at all? I didn't ask. I simply replied as I followed the crowd downstairs. It seemed that everybody was going to get their papers now, which meant that it was my first day on the job. I looked at the calendar on the way downstairs. It was Wednesday, the 24 of June. I laughed to myself. I was so off track with dates. I thought it was the middle of July. I looked back to Blackjack, who was looking at me, waiting for a reply.

"I'm Japanese!" I yelled at him over the din. He nodded as I continued. "I was born in the United states, though!" Soon we were outside, the light glaring down on us. I shaded my eyes. I needed a hat. "My name's Ren."

"Ren?" Blackjack looked at me, skeptical. I glared at him. What was wrong with Ren? It was a perfect Japanese name! My Mother had always told me, 'I could've named you Yuki, for snow, or Aiko, little loved one, but I always felt Ren was best. It means lotus. They're such resilient flowers.' I had learned later that, while Sakura blossoms fell apart at the slightest touch, lotuses would stay even after a typhoon. But that was beyond the point. I needed to come up with a witty remark for a reply. But the best I could come up with seemed so simple…

"Blackjack?" He shrugged, defeated. Wow. Simple was good. I followed him to the paper distribution center, watching the others line up in a semi-straight line. Ah, who was I fooling. It was a hodgepodge mess, with people talking, arguing about who was first, and worst of all, having random contests of spitting, hitting, fighting, and anything that would show off brawn. I quit watching when I saw two boys unhooking their suspenders and pants, and winced when I heard laughing and shouting. I lined up with the blonde instead, and watched as people paid for their papes with little curiosity until I was almost to the front.

Wait… We needed to pay?!

I rummaged through my clothes, pulling a few cents from my scattered pockets. In desperation I pulled a few pennies from my shoe. I began panicking and poked Blackjack quickly, tapping him hard when he didn't respond. When he did, I shoved my money out under his nose.

"How much will this buy?" I had 20 cents, most of it in pennies and only one nickel. Blackjack patted my head and counted slowly. Obviously he wasn't the brains of this operation. He counted them all then stopped, counting again. I sighed as we drew closer to the front of the line, toward the greasy looking man running the joint. Blackjack nodded to himself and patted my head once more.

"That'll buy forty papes, but I'd suggest only using five today… Two for a penny, and you have to eat what you don't sell. So if you buy forty and sell only twenty, you're outta luck." I nodded. That made sense, I suppose. I put away ten cents and put the other ten on the table. The guy gave me twenty, and I counted them all before leaving. I looked to Blackjack with a 'now what?' look on my face, and he slapped me on the back and pointed outside.

"Run as far as you can and scream headlines at the top of your lungs! Run!" And, like he told me, he pushed me off and I took off running, sprinting halfway across Brooklyn before stopping on a corner, holding up a paper, and yelling the bold headline at the top of my lungs, waving the paper back and forth as I did.

"FIRE ON CONEY ISLAND! LOVE BOAT RIDE DESTROYED!" And like that, there were five people around me, handing me pennies and pulling my papers from my hands. I dished them out and suddenly, there was no one. I waited five minutes and yelled again, but by that point I found none. I ran down another block and tried again, and I got one more pape sold. I sighed and began looking for more headlines, which were bar none.

I kept selling, and eventually, I had all of them sold. Most of my money went into my shoe, and I smiled as I stepped on it. I navigated my way back to the Brooklyn base, snagging an apple from a stand as I walked by, the owner completely oblivious. Yeah, I was that good. I bit into the green fruit, juice spurting into my mouth. Spot said I couldn't sell papes? That it wasn't just about the papes? Well, he could go to hell. I just did the impossible. I was carefree, on top of the world. But that changed in a moment.

Suddenly, I was yanked off my feet into an alley, and I was pushed against a wall with bruising force. I kicked and lashed out and my attacker, and someone hit me in the face. I blinked, tears springing to my eyes. I punched back and connected with a man's jaw. Someone was suddenly choking me, their hands wrapping around my neck. I was screaming and fighting back, my air supply starting to run out. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't fucking breathe! I began kicking again, hitting a shin over and over. Someone hit me again. I heard yelling, but I felt a fist connect with my head and everything went black.

I was floating, treading water in a black place. I couldn't tell the water from the sky. Everything was black. I felt smaller then usual, and I realized I was eleven years old again. That made me stop and think. I remembered when I was eleven. It was a good year, I assumed. I kept treading water until I was tired, then I floated on my back, my front of my clothes drying as I thought. The water was as still as my mind. I wondered if, by any chance, I was dead. I drifted, and Spot came to my mind. I wonder if he'd find me. Would he point and tell my body 'I told you so'? Would we weep uncontrollably? I doubted that. The former seemed to be most realistic. But, a yell, booming and panicking, suddenly penetrated my thoughts, and I was carried away, stuck thrashing in the cold water. The still blackness turned inexplicably brown and the sky turned grey, and it roared around me, my ears being deafened, watered. My thoughts were askew and I came to a hasty conclusion. I knew this water. I smelled it everywhere in the city. I was drowning in the Hudson. Water was flooding my nose as I kicked and thrashed violently. I couldn't swim, I couldn't swim. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't breathe. I was choking all over again. I went under once, twice, three times. "SHO-!" Water filled my mouth, and I spit violently. Then, suddenly, someone yanked me out of the cold water by my neck, and I was bathed in warmth again.

"I told her it wasn' just about papes. Didn' I say dat, Blackjack?"

I woke up, still laying in the alley I had been pulled into. It was late. I felt like my head was off my shoulders and on the ground, and covered with bricks and nails and water. Water. What was that new medicine they came up with in March? Aspirin? I could use one of those. They cured headaches, right? My eyes hurt as I realized my head was, in fact, still attached to my body. I coughed, feeling my unrestricted airway pulling in air. Thank god for air. I blinked and everything came into focus. My shirt was ripped, my hair was half down on one side, spilling over my shoulder. Maybe after my attacker found out I was female, he ran off. My Buddhist pendant was on the ground, ripped from my neck in the scuffle. I went to reach for it, but my arm was unresponsive. My eyes lazily traveled to it. I marveled at the bruises. One two, five… Wow. I rolled my head dangerously forward. My shirt was ripped down the sleeve of one side, letting it fall off my thin shoulder. My other arm was responsive, and I used it to move back my hair from my face. I coughed once. Twice. I didn't bother to look up. I knew that voice that had already chastised me. It was my leader.

I looked up, though, through my bangs. Spot was squatting in front of me, staring at me with those grey eyes of his. I could sense him, getting smug. But his face didn't display smugness, it actually looked a little concerned. I noticed I cigarette in his mouth. Did he smoke? I reached out, and, with all of my little force I had left, pushed it from his mouth onto the ground. He almost smiled, but his hand went up, and, gently, tilted my head back. I didn't speak, I just let my head fall back, to tired to argue. I heard a gasp and a whistle.

"Well, Ren, they did a number on you." Muttered Blackjack. I simply nodded. I was tired.

"How long have I been out?" I questioned, and I winced. My voice was in a rasp. My throat was dry. Spot noticed, he handed me his bottle. I looked. Root beer. I smiled, despite myself, and chugged the rest. The grey-eyed boy simply stared. I tired to stand, but when I put my weight on my right arm, the one that didn't work, I fell back down with a yelp. Spot moved forward to examine it.

"It's dislocated." He muttered, and, unceremoniously, he went to fix it. I heard a pop, I yelled, and my first reaction was to hit him. I hit him. He deflected the oncoming slap easily, brushing it off like nothing. I was stronger then that, I was sure. My arm must've been weak from just waking up. I got up, this time lifting off the ground. I bent and snagged my pendant, pocketing it. My money was still in my shoe. That lifted my spirits a bit. My apple was only a few feet away, but I didn't retrieve it. My back sagged against the wall as I took a ragged breath. My chest hurt really bad. I must've been hit there. Either that, or my lungs were injured from lack of air. Blackjack reached out, and so did Spot. They looked ready to help, although Spot had a twinkle of triumph. That stopped me. I slapped their hands away.

"I don't need your damn sympathy." I muttered, and I inched away, stepping forward bit by bit. They stayed far behind me, watching. Damn hawks, I'd show them. I could get through this. I'd been through worse.

There had been a time that I rolled with a tough crowd. I remember getting two cracked ribs and a broken arm in a fight against the Irish boys on Bowery Street, and I still made it home. I stumbled forward, not caring about people on the street. I took a few rests when finally, I felt Spot step in.

"Yoah nevah gonna get back at dis rate." With that, he himself picked me up and easily threw me over his shoulder. I kicked a little bit, and looked to Blackjack, who shrugged and watched in amusement as Spot took me back and set me down at the table in the lodging house. By this point, the boys were crowding around me, staring at me with looks of bemusement. There was no sympathy, although a few looked slightly respectful. I looked around, wondering why everyone looked so… amused and confused. I stared back at them, wondering why, until Blackjack brought me a mirror.

Looking in, my first reaction came from my hand. It flew up to my eye as it widened at my condition. My left eye had a purple bruise around it. It wasn't a really bad black eye, but it was a shiner nonetheless. The purple stain made it look worse, next to my pale skin. The almond shaped eye slowly blinked. I rubbed my hand over it. Well, that could've been worse, I suppose. The worst was yet to come, though. My neck had handprints all around it, and I gulped as I stared. The bruises were mottled, some yellow, some purple. They hurt when I touched them. They seemed to almost make a ring around my neck, and that scared me. Whoever was after me in that alley had tried to kill me. I was lucky to be alive. I smiled in relief, and I was pleased to find all of my teeth had stayed safely in my head. If I lost my perfect, straight white teeth, my life would be over. It would be the same if my nose was broken, the porcelain chipped away, only a nub left. I would die, if that was the case. I may hate my face, but my teeth and my nose, next to my hair, were my pride and joy. My hair always came first. If anything happened to my hair...

I hopped off the table, studying the rest of me. My bruised and once dislocated arm felt as fine as my normal one. My legs were perfectly okay. I sighed, looking at my shirt. I'd have to sew it up later, which meant going and sitting on a roof to do it. I walked away from the group, who were still talking and joking and laughing about something. They had forgotten me easily. I heard Blackjack following me as I went upstairs and fell onto my bed, face into the pillow. It felt good to rest in a bed again.

"What do you want?" My voice was coherent, but at the same time muffled.

"You need new clothes."

"Really? I didn't notice." I said sarcastically, my face still buried.

"I can get you some."

"Yours would be to big."

"I know someone's who wouldn't."

I thought for a moment before I realized what he meant. I sat up and glared over my shoulder. "Hell no."

"What?" He asked innocently. He was confused.

"I'm not _ever_, in a million years, wearing that rat bastard's clothes." I snarled.

"Someone call for me?" Shit. The grey-eyed wonder walked in, hands in his pockets, smirking like he had just won the horse races. I glared at him. He smiled smugly at me before turning. "I told you before. It ain't just about selling papes." He turned back to me, his smug smile gone. "It's about surviving. We may be a group of orphans the city didn' want, but weah da strongest. We don't have time for weaklings. I picked you because you impressed me. You were fast, and you can steal damn well. But when you go out and get yoahself hurt like dat, it makes me look bad, ya' know."

"Ooh. I hurt your rep. I'm _so_ sorry, let me add that to my list of _Things-I-could-care-less-about_." My tone was dripping with sarcasm, and Spot knew it. He smirked dangerously and shrugged, walking off. I sighed and rubbed my neck tenderly. Blackjack left and muttered something about ice for swelling. Maybe he was a little bright. I watched as he left, and suddenly I was hit in the back with a wad of clothing. I picked it up. Suspenders, pants, and a shirt? I looked over my shoulder at Spot, who nodded to me. I threw it back at him. He tossed it back like a hot potato.

"You hate me. I don't need your sympathy."

"I don't hate you."

"I embarrassed you."

"I embarrassed you, too."

"I stole your cane."

"I _picked_ you _because_ you stole my cane."

"I'm Japanese."

"I don't judge people by their color. I don't care about your records, your status, or your secrets. What I need from you," He sat down across from me and nodded, "Is strength."

"I have that."

"Obviously." He replied, looking at me with a sarcastic nod thrown in for good measure.

"I usually can fight for myself. He caught me by surprise."

"Did you see him?"

"Not really." With that, I pulled off my suspenders and my shirt. Spot watched blankly as I changed.

Things were different in other places. In England, girls and boys were separated. The women were quiet. Even here, women and men weren't the same. Women couldn't vote. But, black men could. It made no sense to some people. But us kids, we're indifferent to gender. So, usually, when people read that girls change in front of boys, kids would be like 'Whatever. She needed to change.' Meanwhile adults would be going 'this is an outrage, blah blah blah.'

This is my story, alright? I'm telling you the truth. The truth is, I put on Spot's clothes, because mine were a wreck and hadn't fit me in years. Besides, I had on bandages under my shirt. They stunted my growth and held my breasts in place. I didn't want things attached to my chest that got in the way and made it hard to run and jump and breathe. So, I wrapped them. Tightly. So far, it worked. They kept pretty flat. I'd have to redo the wraps every morning, but it was better then nothing.

I sat there after I was done, looking disdainfully at the dark blue shirt and the black suspenders he threw at me. He also gave me some new (albeit used) brown pants. He nodded and pointed at me carelessly. "You can keep da straps an da pants, but I'm gonna want da shoit back sometime."

"Whatever." I muttered, shrugged, and left, grabbing some ice from Blackjack's hand on the way out the door.

"Where you going?" He asked after me, watching me leave.

"Noneya'." I called back, before stepping out the door and walking away.

I needed to go out for a visit.


End file.
